Wednesday, June 26, 2002

The air is still and thick today. Nothing seems to be moving, and right now in the heat of mid afternoon, all the birds have stopped singing. There are patches of calm on the water out in the Channel, an unusual occurrence at any time of day.



The thick air seemed to build last night. Sleeping on the front deck, I awoke at 3am, brought out of sleep by some noisy barred owls hunting by the light of the full moon. I lay awake for awhile listening to the night sounds, the owls, a deer walking around the little meadow below me, the odd goose down in the bay getting startled awake. It was a remarkable night, as quiet as I have ever heard it around here with the moonlight tinted pale yellow from the haze that accumulated out over the Strait.



This morning was more of the same. Awakened by raven babies calling out from a nest in the Douglas-firs in front of us, I was absolutely astounded by the variety and clarity of the bird calls. Pilleated woodpeckers drumming, flickers calling, robins singing their morning songs. Even the rooster away in Miller’s Landing seemed to be singing to me.



It must be the air or the humidity and the calm, but it’s like living inside a set of headphones today.